


You Draw Your Strength from the Devil to Seduce Men

by cofax



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-11
Updated: 2016-03-11
Packaged: 2018-05-26 03:37:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6222103
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cofax/pseuds/cofax
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for 2008 More Joy Day. Cordelia Chase, finding her way in LA.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Draw Your Strength from the Devil to Seduce Men

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Edonohana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Edonohana/gifts).



"What do you mean, it didn't work?"

The spellcaster stared up at her from behind stringy brown bangs: what was it about magic that made so many women neglect their looks? Cordelia hadn't met a single one since coming to LA who'd even heard of conditioner, much less Vogue. "I mean," the girl said, "it didn't work."

Rank smoke curled around the girl's head, and Cordelia waved it away with a grimace. "Well, try again! And no billing me twice for your mistakes, either." Really, it was impossible: even Rosenberg was more reliable than _this_.

Instead of acquiescence, though, all Cordelia received was a resentful stare. "I'm out of durian rind. Besides," the girl added, her expression shifting to something Cordelia could only assume was sly, based on its resemblance to Harmony's usual look, "I think someone down there doesn't like you."

"What do you mean?" And what did she mean by down there? Just what kind of spells did this back-room hedge-witch use, anyway?

Not that Cordelia had any options: she was out of cash, out of friends, out of choices. The party tomorrow night at Barry Whitman's house was her only chance to catch someone's eye. She _had_ to have the spell, had to land someone, and it didn't matter how. Besides, the casting couch was a long and historic Hollywood tradition; she just needed to find the right couch.

The girl snuffed out the incense, blew out the black candle, and carefully put the tiny skull back into a small velvet bag. Cordelia's blood--a thimblefull only, she wasn't stupid--still stained the marble top of the low white table. "You stink of magic, past-present. The Dark Powers don't want nothing to do with you. It's unbalancing."

Cordelia stared. Well, this was just fantastic. "You're saying not even _black magic_ will get me a part?" And besides, she was done with all that magic stuff: this was just a fluke. No more magic, no more vampires, no more werewolves or Slayers or any of that, she'd decided. She should have remembered none of it ever turned out well, before she'd succumbed to the lure of the tiny sign next to the consignment shop: _magickal works_. She'd wasted an hour and her last twenty.

When the girl just shrugged, Cordelia tossed her head in annoyance and left the dank and musty little storefront. If she timed it right, she'd be able to hit Ricky's just when the free happy hour food went out. She had a plastic bag in her pocket, and there was always Barry's party tomorrow. Something would come through.


End file.
